


cherry cordial

by ShowMeAHero



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Humor, M/M, Meet-Cute, Richie Tozier Has a Big Dick, Smut, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Touch Telepathy, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:28:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22579360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: He’s staring down hard at his phone, scrolling aimlessly through Facebook without reading anything, when someone bumps into him. Whoever it is grabs the pole, their hands brushing against each other’s.Right in his ear, the guy says,“Fucking shit, you’re hot.”Eddie’s head jerks up, startled, and he meets the bright blue eyes of a man at least eight inches taller than him. The guy’s got a pink knit cap tugged down over his head and a spill of curls falling down from it, his glasses fogging up in the warmth of the train car.“What?” Eddie demands.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 36
Kudos: 892
Collections: IT ❀ Valentine's Day Fic Exchange





	cherry cordial

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BadBoyDeanAsf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadBoyDeanAsf/gifts).



> For the IT 🎈 Valentine's Day Gift Exchange!
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day!

Eddie hates the motherfucking subway. Every day, his nine-to-five schedule for his regular nine-to-five job means he’s on the bus and the train at rush hour, packed in like a sardine with all the  _ other  _ sardines in Boston. It’s miserable. His only saving grace is his headphones; he plays music and podcasts to distract himself, but still. Every time someone jostles him, or bumps into him, or even  _ looks _ at him, he wants to scream.

It’s even worse that it’s still semi-early February, so everybody’s bundled up in hats and coats and gloves and everything. He would be, too, except he couldn’t find his gloves that morning. Instead, he’s holding onto the pole on the subway train, trying not to grimace and reminding himself that he can sanitize his hands with the sanitizer in his bag the second he’s off the train. He’s so focused on telling himself that that he’s barely paying attention when they pull into the station.

He’s staring down hard at his phone, scrolling aimlessly through Facebook without reading anything, when someone bumps into him. Whoever it is grabs the pole, their hands brushing against each other’s.

Right in his ear, the guy says,  _ “Fucking shit, you’re hot.” _

Eddie’s head jerks up, startled, and he meets the bright blue eyes of a man at least eight inches taller than him. The guy’s got a pink knit cap tugged down over his head and a spill of curls falling down from it, his glasses fogging up in the warmth of the train car.

“What?” Eddie demands. The guy’s hot, too, but— but people can’t just fucking  _ say  _ that.

“What?” the guy asks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, I—” Eddie says, as the train jolts to a start again. He trips and stumbles into the guy, who catches him and rights him. His hands are fucking  _ huge,  _ and Eddie’s momentarily distracted by his touch.  _ You’re fucking hot, too, not that strangers can fucking say that to each other— _

“Can’t say what?” the guy asks, his brow furrowing. Eddie stares up at him, bewildered, the lights in the tunnel they’re flying through flickering across their faces.

“Did you say something to me?” Eddie asks. He pulls his headphones out, holding the wireless earbuds in his palm. “When you first got on the train?”

“I… said sorry,” the guy offers, hesitant. “Just now? That part?”

“No, the— Before,” Eddie says. The guy just keeps looking down at him like he has two heads. They pull into the next stop, just then, coming to a sudden halt, and they both stumble this time. The guy catches himself on the bar above their heads, his other arm wrapping around Eddie, and Eddie’s brain short-circuits on a loop of  _ fuck, fuck, fuck, he’s so big, he’s so tall— _

The guy snorts on a laugh, righting Eddie with a hand on his shoulder. He looks down at him and says, “I’m actually six-foot-four.”

Eddie frowns up at him. “You’re not taller than six-three. Anyways, I don’t care and—” Eddie looks over his shoulder, sees the sign in the station, and his heart leaps into his throat. “—And this is my  _ stop,  _ shit, bye—”

“Wait!” The guy reaches for Eddie, just as Eddie slides through the doors. Their fingertips brush, and Eddie hears him shout,  _ “Is it really you?” _

Eddie turns to ask him what he means, but he realizes the man didn’t speak out loud. It was in their heads.

Holy fuck, it was in their  _ heads. _

“Wait, no!” Eddie shouts, as the doors slip closed. He bangs a fist on the window as the train starts to move, shouting,  _ “Fuck!” _

“I’ll be—” the guy calls to him, and whatever he was going to keep saying was lost as the train blurred away too fast to move. Eddie can only watch it go too fast for him to grab anymore, and he’s forced to step back beyond the yellow line by an attendant. The train disappears down the tunnel, taking the guy with it.

Eddie’s heart pounds, his chest heaving as he watches the red lights at the back of the train fade into the distance and then disappear into the darkness.

“Did your friend not get off the train?” the attendant asks. Eddie’s still staring down the tunnel, trying to catch his breath. After a beat, he looks down at his bare hand. The relentless urge to sanitize his hands has abided, just a little bit. Near his fingertips, anyways.

“Not my friend,” Eddie answers. He shakes his head, then says, “No, he’s not my friend. I think—” Eddie exhales all at once, then presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and groans.  _ “Fuck!” _

“You alright, man?” the attendant asks. Eddie throws his hands up.

“No, I’m not fucking  _ alright!”  _ Eddie shouts. The attendant frowns at him, but Eddie ignores him, pointing down the tunnel. “I think I just met my motherfucking _ soulmate  _ but we didn’t realize until I was already off the train and the fucking  _ doors  _ were  _ closing! Fuck!” _

The attendant’s frown turns sympathetic instead of angry, and she says, “Oh, I’m— I’m sorry, dude, that sucks.”

Eddie glares at her, then laughs, a little hysterically. There’s nothing funny about this, but all he can  _ do  _ is laugh, because— because there’s nothing else  _ to  _ do. The train is gone and the guy is  _ gone  _ and Eddie’s—

“Why don’t you just take the train to the next station and see if he got off there?” the attendant suggests, as the next train pulls in. It’s just as packed as the last one. Eddie glances at his watch, and he’s already running late from standing here and shouting, but it can’t hurt to try. It’s his  _ soulmate.  _ There should be some— some sort of allowance made for  _ that. _

“Good idea,” Eddie says, hopping through the doors of the train as soon as the people inside are done getting off. “Thanks!”

“Good luck!” the attendant calls. The distance between this stop and the next seems much longer than he knows it actually is, and Eddie gets antsy. He shoots off the train at the next stop like a bullet. There’s dozens of people, all flowing off the train at once. He strains to look over them, infuriated at his height, but he can’t see the guy over other people’s heads.

He’s not there. Eddie sees a trash can, and he strongly considers kicking it over, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes a deep breath, then a second. He goes up the stairs to loop around and take the train in the opposite direction back.

Eddie ends up fifteen minutes late for work, but that’s it. He barely gets any work done all day, so it doesn’t even matter. He just keeps thinking about the tall guy on the train, about his broad shoulders in his winter jacket and the curls of hair in his face and his sharp jawline. It’s intoxicating, all of it, but he’s stuck on the fact that that was his  _ soulmate,  _ and he  _ got off the fucking train. _

The entire train ride back out of the city, he keeps looking for a tall man in a pink hat. Nothing. He looks at every curly-haired guy, every dark head, every man in glasses. None of them are his soulmate.

Eddie lingers at his home station, just for a few minutes, before he catches his bus home. Just in case. No luck, though.

He barely sleeps through the night, just waiting for morning to come so he can go to the train station again and, hopefully, find his soulmate in the same spot. The fucking problem, though, is that he doesn’t remember what  _ fucking  _ car he got on.

“Motherfucker,” he says, the next morning, looking at the platform. He usually stands about halfway down, but he doesn’t remember exactly where he got on yesterday. It could be  _ any  _ of these.

Working off muscle memory, Eddie walks a third of the way down the platform, then hesitates. A few more steps, and he stops again. He boards there, when the next train comes, getting shoved in with all the other nine-to-five commuters. Instinctively, he knows he’s chosen the wrong car the second he steps on. The pole he had held yesterday isn’t there, and he groans.

“Excuse me,” he tells the person behind him, trying to turn and get to another car. Problem is, he’s already halfway in, and nobody will move to let him  _ off.  _ They’re all too busy finding their way  _ on.  _ He doesn’t manage to get back through the crowd in time, and the doors close on him as he tries desperately to at least get his  _ arm  _ through.

All he can do is wiggle himself into a small spot by the window and hope he can see the guy on the platform or something, wave to him, get his attention.

As it turns out, this is exactly what happens. He sees the guy, and the guy sees him, and he points excitedly, his face breaking out into a grin. Eddie waves, but the train’s still going. The guy gets lost, his face creasing with worry before the train outpaces him. Eddie turns, trying to shove himself as far into the window as he can to keep his eyes on his soulmate, but they’ve lost each other in the crowd.

When the doors open, Eddie hops out, shouting, “I’m over here!”

“Please stand clear of the doors,” the announcer shouts loudly through the speakers. She tramps on his voice, and he turns to glare at her. “In or out?”

“I have to—”

_ “In or out?” _ she repeats. Eddie narrows his eyes at her, then glances over his shoulder. He can’t see the guy anywhere, and the crowd’s clearing. He sighs.

“In,” he tells her, then gets back on the train.

It goes like this for the next few days. Eddie’s starting to go a little insane, with this stupid fucking game of tag they’re playing. Either he doesn’t see the guy at all, or they see each other just to get lost moments later. It’s infuriating.

The entire time, too, the guy’s voice is lingering still in his head. The fact that the  _ first thing  _ the guy had thought upon looking at him and touching him was  _ “Fucking shit, you’re hot,”  _ makes Eddie lose sleep at night. He texts Bill about it, the closest thing he has to a friend, and Bill just replies with  **_you’re so lucky, you dick, i can’t wait to meet your actual soulmate!!!,_ ** which is  _ not  _ helpful at  _ all. _

The next time Eddie’s on the train, he’s got a plan. He’s going to count which car he’s in, then hold that number up to the guy as they go by. Then, he’ll be able to find the right car and get back on. They’ll be able to introduce themselves and hold hands to their heart’s content, and Eddie can finally get some sleep that isn’t plagued by wet dreams of a man whose name and actual, like,  _ personality  _ are still complete unknowns.

Eddie’s prepared with his plan, ready to hold up seven fingers so the guy knows where to go. Instead, he’s met with the guy holding a sign above his head. Eddie barely has time to read it, but it says,  _ meet me tonight at park street station at 8:00. _

He forgets to hold up the seven fingers, but he registers the words on the sign and the thumbs-up the guy is giving him, the goofy grin on his face. Eddie smiles back, raising his hand in a slight wave before they lose each other again. They can’t get to each other in the crowd,  _ again,  _ but Eddie’s not worried about it today. Instead, he’s yanking his phone out and opening up his chat with Bill

**He asked me on a date,** Eddie texts.  **He held up a sign telling me to meet him at Park Street at 8 tonight.**

**_oh shit you got a valentine’s date!_ ** Bill texts back. Eddie’s heart starts to race, and he drags the notification menu down on his phone, panicked. Sure as shit, the date says  _ February 14th, 2020. _

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Eddie murmurs to himself. He pops his headphones into his ears and puts on Elton John and stares straight ahead, trying not to think about tonight. Based on the looks people are giving him, he’s failing miserably; it’s not until he’s getting off the train and he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the window of the subway car that he realizes it’s because he’s smiling at absolutely nothing at all.

His work day  _ drags. _ He’s so anxious he makes over a dozen trips to the bathroom on his floor, and half of those trips are just him staring into the mirror and splashing water in his face, trying desperately not to throw up down the sink or shit himself with fear.

By eleven o’clock, he’s staring blankly at an Excel spreadsheet one of his assistants drew up for him, processing exactly zero percent of it. By one o’clock, he’s looking out the window, imagining he can see all the way to the Park Street station, to the Boston Common, where the trees still have their lights strung up to glow all multicolored in the nighttime darkness. By three o’clock, he’s pretty much rabid, getting up to pace periodically with all the energy buzzing inside of him.

He jumps up at exactly five o’clock, shutting down his computer and leaving his office fast enough that nobody can stop him along the way. There’s just enough time to get home, shower, change, and get back out to Park Street for eight o’clock, and that’s just what he does. He wastes a little bit of time trying to figure out what to wear, but it’s cold out. In the end, he realizes he’ll have his coat on. It doesn’t actually matter.

It  _ feels  _ like it matters. Eddie hesitates, then chooses a faintly blush-pink sweater for himself. He’s blushing, too, when he tugs his coat on over it. He chooses not to think too much about it as he grabs his wallet, phone, and keys on his way out the door.

The ride to Park Street takes a thousand years, and no time at all. Eddie doesn’t feel like he’s prepared at all by the time he actually gets there. The guy isn’t in the station, no matter where Eddie looks, so he heads for the stairs, taking them two at a time until he’s bursting through the doors onto the Boston Common.

At first, he doesn’t see anything. It had snowed the day before, so everything is still covered in a thick layer of trodden white, and the lights still strung through the bare trees glisten in multicolored streaks across the crust of it. He can’t see the guy anywhere, so he jogs towards the fountain and turns to face the State House instead.

That’s when he sees him.

The guy isn’t turned towards him, not yet. He’s facing up towards the State House, his head tipped back to look up towards the golden dome on top, lit up in the wintry darkness. Eddie’s heart jumps into his throat instantly. The guy has his pink knit cap on again; Eddie realizes with a jolt that it’s nearly the same exact color as his sweater. He takes a step closer, his hands shaking, sweating, and he’s doubly glad he didn’t put gloves on. He wipes his palms off on his pants and comes up behind the guy before shuffling to his side and taking his hand.

_ Hi,  _ Eddie thinks, just as the guy jumps and looks down at him. His cheeks and nose are flushed with the cold, but he still grins when he realizes who’s holding his hand.

_ “Hey there,” _ the guy replies— in their fucking  _ heads,  _ and Eddie’s chest feels like it fills up with helium as the guy tangles his fingers with Eddie’s.  _ “My name’s Richie Tozier and I think I might just be your soulmate.” _

Eddie huffs a laugh, smiling wider than he thinks he’s ever smiled before. He can’t even bring himself to care all that much about the fact that he’s holding hands, skin-to-skin, with a virtual stranger, because that stranger is his  _ soulmate.  _ He’s finally found his fucking  _ soulmate,  _ and he feels so happy, he could cry.

The guy—  _ Richie,  _ Richie Tozier, Eddie’s soulmate— is  _ already  _ crying, tears streaming down his face and his glasses fogging up.

“I’m Eddie,” Eddie says out loud, because he forgets what they’re actually doing here. He’s too overwhelmed just looking up at Richie and thinking about spending the rest of his life with him, getting to know him and finding out what makes them perfect together and falling in love and everything Eddie’s hoped he could have and feared he’d never get.

“Eddie Spaghetti, it’s a genuine honor,” Richie tells him. Eddie laughs again, tears starting to stream down his own face.  _ “Look at him, fuck, I want to kiss him—” _

“Was that a thought or a question?” Eddie asks. Richie smiles, bringing their joined hands up and twisting them together, joyfully playful. Eddie’s heart jumps.

“Can I kiss you?” Richie asks, instead of answering. Eddie nods before even thinking about it, impulsive and excited and barely even thinking about the flu or pneumonia or any number of things he could catch. Barely, but still a little bit— and then, not at all, when Richie leans down and gathers Eddie’s face in his hands. His bright eyes look intently into Eddie’s, magnified by his thick glasses. After a moment, they flick down to his mouth.  _ “He’s so fucking handsome I’m so fucking lucky holy fuck holy fuck I can’t believe he’s going to let me kiss him fuck fuck fuck—” _

_ Just do it,  _ Eddie thinks back, as hard as he can. Richie’s face pinks a bit more in the twinkling lights on the trees, but he does as Eddie says, ducking down the rest of the way to kiss Eddie for the first time. When their lips touch, it feels like there’s an explosion of heat from the back of his throat and down; it expands through his entire body in rippling currents through his veins until he’s clinging to Richie’s jacket and tugging him in closer, barely even a thought in his head at all.

Richie’s hands fall off his face to grab Eddie’s hips instead, and they lose each other’s thoughts, but Eddie’s pretty sure they’re on the same track, anyways. He gets tugged in, Richie’s big hands pulling at him until their hips are together and he’s smoothing his hands up his chest to his face. When their skin touches again, Eddie hears the tail end of a thought, just the last thread of,  _ “—come home with me unless that’s too soon— oh shit he can hear— oh shit you can hear me I’m sorry please don’t think I’m a creep—” _

“You’re not a creep,” Eddie assures him. Richie grins again, tipping his head just slightly so their noses brush together. A shiver runs down Eddie’s spine. “Where do you live?”

“Back Bay,” Richie says. Eddie pulls back slightly. “What?”

“You live in  _ Back Bay?”  _ Eddie asks incredulously. “Wh— What do you—”

“We have the literal rest of our lives to talk,” Richie tells him. Eddie frowns, his brow furrowing slightly, and Richie smiles. “How about this— I’m Richie, I’m six-four and I’m a  _ pretty  _ successful actor and also a Pisces and  _ also _ your soulmate, can I  _ please  _ take you home with me?”

Eddie can’t help but grin as he tells him, “I’m Eddie Kaspbrak, you’re  _ not  _ six-four because  _ I’m  _ five-nine and you’re  _ not  _ seven inches taller than me, I’m a risk analyst and a— I think I’m a Virgo?” Eddie stops, brushes a loose strand of hair away from Richie’s eyes and tucks it up under the edge of knit cap. When his fingertips brush Richie’s cheek, he thinks,  _ I’m your soulmate. _

_ “And?”  _ Richie thinks back.

Eddie smiles.  _ And you can take me home with you. _

Richie pulls Eddie in to kiss him again.

* * *

On their Green Line ride to Richie’s place in Back Bay—  _ Back Bay,  _ which makes Eddie’s brain explode— they can’t keep their hands off each other, fingers brushing palms and noses lightly touching and cheeks sliding together as they turn to kiss again, and again. It’s half-thought and half-talk, sentences spilling out in fragments between their heads and their mouths. Richie’s  _ wonderful,  _ hilarious and biting and sarcastic and kind; he takes Eddie’s dry humor in stride, laughing at everything he says. Eddie doesn’t know the last time he smiled so much.

They’re not a far walk from their stop to Richie’s place. Richie gets a delighted look on his face seconds before he turns and crouches down.

“What the hell are you doing?” Eddie asks, heart pounding.

“I’m gonna take you back with me,” Richie says. “Piggyback ride. Hop on, Eds, c’mon.”

“Don’t call me Eds,” Eddie tells him. “My name is  _ Eddie.” _

“Is Eddie the  _ only  _ option?” Richie asks. “What about  _ sweetheart,  _ or  _ baby—” _

Eddie cuts him off with another kiss, then goes around to hop on his back. Richie situates his big hands under Eddie’s thighs and his ass, gripping him tight as he stands back up, then takes off at a jog down the sidewalk. Eddie laughs breathlessly, the air bouncing out of him as he tries to hang on to Richie’s shoulders. Richie turns his face into Eddie’s bare hand on his shoulder.

_ “I can’t believe this can’t believe it I’m so lucky,”  _ Richie lets him hear, streaming through his mind into Eddie’s.  _ “So so lucky I can’t believe it I think I’m in love with him can I already be in love with him.” _

Eddie grins, delighted, burying his face in Richie’s throat. It’s not far before they’re at Richie’s building and he’s putting him down to get them into the lobby. He just waves at a doorman— an actual  _ doorman—  _ that waves back before returning to his phone. Eddie jogs past with a furrowed brow to keep up with Richie’s long legs.

Richie’s apartment is  _ huge,  _ but Richie doesn’t even acknowledge any of it. He just yanks Eddie inside, slams the door shut behind them, and hauls Eddie through the place to a back hallway. In a heartbeat, he’s kicking in another door, and then Eddie’s on his back in a bed. Richie climbs up over him, cupping Eddie’s face and kissing him again.

_ “You’re so handsome, so good-looking, so hot,”  _ Richie tells him. His words in Eddie’s head drown out everything else; he can’t help but cling to him and roll his hips up into Richie’s, desperate and already harder than he’s ever been in his life.  _ Fuck, fuck, fuck, he’s going to think I’m— _

“Stop right there,” Richie says. “I’m not going to think you’re  _ anything.  _ You’re my soulmate and I want to know  _ you.” _

Eddie’s skin ripples out in goosebumps. He starts tugging at his jacket, trying to pull it off his arms. Richie sits up and climbs off the bed once he finally gets the hint, stripping his clothes off so quickly he almost falls over when his ankle gets caught in his pants. Eddie can’t help but laugh, throwing his sweater to the floor in the same moment. Richie just  _ looks _ at him, wide-eyed, flushed and smiling. His attention tracks down over Eddie’s skin, taking in every inch of his naked body, flat on his back in Richie’s bed. Eddie props his chin up on his palm, elbow on the bed, watching Richie in return.

He’s tall, long and broad in the shoulders. His arms are strong, his legs are thick, his whole body covered in dark hair. When he steps closer, huffing a breathless laugh, Eddie reaches out and smoothes his hand over Richie’s hip. It brings him nearly eye-level with Richie’s cock, impossibly huge and hard, flushed red like Richie’s cheeks.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Richie chokes out. Eddie smiles up at him, tugging him closer until Richie’s climbing back over him. He takes Richie’s face between his hands and kisses him again, turning him until  _ his _ back is flat against the mattress. With a firm hand on Richie’s shoulder, Eddie guides him backwards and down until he’s straddling Richie, leaning down over him until their cocks brush together. Richie inhales sharply, tipping his head back into the pillows behind him, his thoughts stuttering to life again and streaming through Eddie’s head,  _ “Fucking shit look at him, I want him so bad, I want to be inside him so bad—” _

_ Okay,  _ Eddie tells him. Richie makes a soft noise, almost a whimper, and Eddie drops his head to kiss him again. The motion’s sharp, too fast, and their cocks drag together with it; Eddie feels like his skin is on fire everywhere they touch, and he knows this is  _ it,  _ this is part of it, part of the whole soulmate  _ thing,  _ and he’s so excited for it he can barely breathe. He wonders what it’ll look like, what it’ll—

Richie guides him into a deeper kiss, licking into his mouth and along Eddie’s tongue, soft and sweet before Eddie turns it dirty quick. Richie leans into it, God  _ fucking  _ love him, lifting his head off the pillows to try for a harder kiss; Eddie pushes him back down and inhales sharply.

_ Lube,  _ he thinks, and Richie points to his nightstand. Eddie fishes it out for them, readjusting himself so he’s sitting between Richie’s legs, pushing his knees apart for space. After a beat, looking Richie over, he slicks his fingers with lube, then drops his head down to lick up Richie’s cock, the flat of his tongue pressing hard from base to tip. Richie’s head slams back again, his hands fisting in the sheets. His brain’s all static now, the only words being Eddie’s name and  _ please  _ and  _ more  _ and  _ yes  _ and little else. The rest of his thoughts are images, and Eddie uses it to keep himself on the right path.

He takes Richie in his mouth, a little bit at a time. He’s still fucking huge, and it takes work to even get halfway down his cock, but the sensation is exhilirating and intoxicating and neither of them can manage to stop even to catch their breath. Eddie slips one finger, then two, into himself as he blows Richie, working himself open quickly. He knows what he’s doing, so it doesn’t take much or long to get himself as ready for Richie’s cock as he can get.

Eddie draws up and off of Richie, licking a long, hot line up his dick before finally sitting up again. He wraps his lube-slick hand around the base of Richie’s cock, sliding it up slowly, increasing the pressure as he goes. Richie’s thoughts become nothing but static again as Eddie gets closer to the head of his dick. He’s slick with lube and saliva and pre-cum; Eddie’s not sure he’s ever been this hard in his  _ life,  _ and it’s taking everything in him not to touch his own dick just watching Richie fall apart like this.

When they’re ready, finally  _ both  _ ready, Eddie doesn’t waste time in lifting himself back up over Richie’s cock, using his slick hand to guide the head of his dick into his relaxed entrance. Richie’s chest stutters as he catches and holds his breath; Eddie looks up at him, their eyes locking.

The feeling that pierces through him is sudden and jarring and  _ lovely,  _ overwhelmingly passionate and intense and so fucking warm Eddie feels like he could melt. All he can see are blue eyes, dark with how wide his pupils are, and he gets the sensation he’s seeing into Richie, through to the core of him, and that Richie’s doing the same to him.

“I think I really do love you,” Eddie tells him, out loud. It’s fucking insane, because they’ve barely even  _ met,  _ but then he’s pushing himself down until he’s fully seated on Richie’s cock, and Richie’s crying out his name and throwing his head back into the pillows again. His curls are plastered to his face with sweat, his slick palms gripping Eddie’s hips tight, holding him still as his chest heaves. Eddie plants a hand on Richie’s shoulder, pushing him back gently. The movement makes him rock a bit inside of him, and Eddie groans, just softly, enough that Richie hears.

“I think I love you, too, Eds,” Richie replies, blinking tears out of those big eyes. Eddie drops his head to kiss him again, finally gripping Richie’s shoulders and fucking himself on his cock. Richie doesn’t take long to get with the program, planting his feet on the mattress so he can give as good as he gets, and he finds Eddie’s prostate in the process. Eddie’s whole world shatters apart and then pieces itself together, stained glass more brilliant and beautiful than ever before. He laughs, almost mad with it.

“I feel like— like I can see colors I couldn’t before,” Eddie tells him. It’s hysterical, but it’s true, and Richie nods jerkily.

“I know exactly what you mean— Fuck,  _ Eddie,”  _ Richie chokes out, grip tightening on Eddie’s hips. Eddie’s knees dig into the mattress as he pushes in closer, further, deeper, rolling his body into Richie’s to drag his cock slowly along his inner walls, biting down the hard groans that keep coming up out of his chest, unbidden. Richie hiccups, his hand streaming up Eddie’s back to knot in his hair, yanking him down for another bruising kiss.

Eddie takes Richie’s shoulder in his hand, holds him tight as he lifts himself up and finds the right angle for himself to get his prostate again.  _ Richie’s _ got tears streaming down his face as Eddie cums untouched between them, and all Eddie can make out in the haze of his own climax is  _ Richie’s  _ thoughts.

_ “Thank fuck I found you,”  _ he thinks, and it makes Eddie cry, too, dropping his head down into Richie’s chest and struggling to catch his breath as he rides his high and starts to sob at the same time. Richie catches him, turns him and presses a kiss to the crown of his head. “You’re okay, I got you, Eds—”

“Fuck me,” Eddie says. Richie blinks at him, and Eddie nods vigorously before he repeats, “C’mon, Rich, fuck me—”

Richie doesn’t need to be told twice, even if Eddie already has, because he’s moving faster than Eddie can even see, now. He flips Eddie onto his back and pulls one of his legs up over his shoulder, crooked at the knee. In the next inhale, Richie pushes back inside him. Eddie sobs again, and Richie’s hand falls over his heart as he cums after only two more thrusts, pushing completely into Eddie before blanketing him with his trembling, boneless body. Eddie just mindlessly strokes Richie’s back in long caresses until he’s breathing normally again.

“Holy shit,” Richie whispers, voice rough and throat hoarse. He tries clearing it before giving it up as a bad job and sitting back, pulling out of Eddie in one quick movement. They both groan; Richie flops on his back next to Eddie in his huge bed.

“We’re making a mess,” Eddie tells him. Richie huffs a laugh. Then, the laugh catches, and he starts laughing  _ hard,  _ hard enough that Eddie starts laughing, but then Richie starts crying, and then they’re  _ both _ crying,  _ again.  _ Richie turns onto his side and pulls Eddie in for a soft, slow kiss.

“Make all the mess you want, Kaspbrak,” Richie says. “What’s mine is yours,  _ soulmate.” _

Eddie’s heart surges, and he remembers, all at once. He can see in Richie’s eyes that he remembers, too, and then they’re both sitting up and looking each other over.

“Your shoulder,” Eddie points out. The wine-stain shape of his hand is branded into Richie’s skin, gripping tightly over his shoulder. Eddie brushes his fingertips over it again, grinning. “Your soulmark is nice.”

“Yeah?” Richie asks, craning his neck to try and see. He gives up and turns to look in the mirror over his dresser.  _ “Oh,  _ fuck, that’s— That’s really hot, Eds, I’m not gonna lie.”

“Where’s mine?” Eddie asks, not taking his eyes off Richie. He doesn’t want to look in the mirror and find it himself; he wants Richie to tell him. Richie turns back to him, his eyes tracking down Eddie’s throat to his chest and stalling there. He reaches up, pushing the tips of his fingers into Eddie’s heart.

“Here,” Richie says. Eddie inhales, then smiles. When he looks down, sure enough, there’s the huge imprint of Richie’s hand flat over his heart, cherry-colored and strong and  _ his,  _ it’s  _ theirs,  _ their soulmark on his body, evidence of their soul bond.  _ “His heart— Your heart.” _

_ My heart,  _ Eddie thinks back to him. He reaches up and pulls Richie’s hand off his chest, tangling their fingers together and drawing Richie in for another kiss, still thinking, over and over,  _ my heart, my heart, my heart. _

Which reminds him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he says, out loud. It feels important.

Richie laughs, and Eddie realizes he was right. This  _ is  _ important.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Richie replies. He kisses Eddie again, and an overwhelming sense of content washes over them, a warm and pleasant feeling like all is right in the world. Eddie doesn’t need to pull back and ask Richie if he feels the same; he already knows.

**Author's Note:**

> You can (and should!) come chat with me on Twitter at [@nicolelianesolo](https://twitter.com/nicolelianesolo) and/or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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